The Royal House of Niroli: Billion Dollar Bargains: Bought by the Billionaire Prince / The Tycoon's Princess Bride

CHAPTER THREE

‘COME ON, Meg—loosen up and live a little!’

Since Meg had arrived back from her shift Jasmine had been attempting to persuade her to dress up and venture out to explore the night life on their doorstep, but it was positively the last thing Meg felt like doing. They’d been travelling since the early morning, she’d worked in the hot kitchen and that was all on top of the disappointment of missing Alex. Stepping out of the shower and falling into bed were the only things on her mind; except it was their last night together and loosen up and live a little had been the exact reasons for this trip. Though she might be travelling lightly, Meg’s emotional baggage was weighty and few would ever know the supreme effort it took for Meg to give a casual shrug of her shoulders and finally nod in agreement. ‘Just for a couple of hours,’ Meg warned, peeling open her backpack and peering inside.

‘Well, hurry up and don’t take for ever deciding what to wear!’

Which was a joke only backpackers could understand! In an attempt to travel lightly, Meg had packed only one outfit suitable for a glamorous night out—which on the positive side removed the usual angst of what to wear, whilst on the down side.

What had she been thinking when she’d packed it?

The short black tube skirt had seemed a good choice when packing as it took up a mere square inch of her backpack, and the crushed silk azure top took up even less space; only they showed off way more of her body than Meg really felt comfortable with—the confident, assured woman she had envisaged wearing these was probably a few weeks further into her getting her life together.

Stepping back, Meg stared at her reflection, took in the slender, tanned body, her hair scooped up and twisted into a casual but elegant style. Her face that had been void of make-up for her entire trip seemed unfamiliar now—her blue eyes sparkling vividly with the help of shimmering eye shadow and a slick of black mascara, high cheekbones accentuated with a hint of rouge and her lips plump and full with the help of some lipstick. But despite the vision that stared back at her, despite the transformation that had taken place in the small, cramped bathroom, still Meg eyed herself critically, fighting the urge to rip off the clothes, to rub off the make-up, to dive into her bed and pull the sheet over her head. She almost hated the woman who stared back at her, the confident, feminine, sultry image that belied the terrified child inside, her exposed flesh, the curves on her body, the jutting, high breasts, provoking terror within her. She knew that tonight she’d turn heads, that men would look at her, men like Luca….

Her throat felt tight as she swallowed hard, forced herself to relive that brief encounter. She could feel his eyes burning her skin all over again, the shock of sexual awareness fizzing through her body no matter how she’d tried to douse it. Since she’d first glimpsed him, since first he’d stepped closer into her personal space, Meg had felt unsettled, as if he’d taken some imaginary spoon and skillfully stirred her somewhere deep inside.

He was beautiful—even that blatantly obvious acknowledgement was a monumental feat for Meg, a step forward even. Too many times in the past she’d buried her feelings, refused to examine them, but standing there staring at her reflection, her knuckles white as she gripped the sink, Meg forced herself to stay with her feelings for a moment—to explore them. Those dark, liquid silk eyes had caressed her, the deep drawl of his voice had moved her, and Meg acknowledged how much she had wanted to take him up on his offer, and find out what exactly he had in store for her … to see him again!

‘No!’

She said the word out loud, pulled the window shut on the thoughts that were flittering in. He wanted her for how she looked—could look; he’d made that blatantly clear. Men like Luca were used to getting what they wanted, most women couldn’t resist their charms.

Only she wasn’t like most women.

‘You look fantastic!’ Jasmine thrust a glass of cheap wine into her hand as Meg stepped out from the bathroom. ‘I adore your top. Where did you get it?’

‘At a craft market in Queensland.’ Meg attempted girltalk, tried and wished to be as happy and carefree as Jasmine as they discussed her top; mind you, it was divine. The deepest azure, it scooped into a halter neck and from the front it looked elegant and simple, but it was rather more daring from behind, its low cut making the wearing of a bra impossible and instead revealing the vast expanse of her golden sun-kissed back and almost the entire column of her vertebra. The crushed silk fabric was caught at the bottom and ruched together in a glittering butterfly encrusted with glass beads and semiprecious stones. The moment Meg had set eyes on it she’d wanted it—one of the few impulse buys in her life.

‘Well, you look stunning,’ Jasmine affirmed with a slight hiccough as she forced down her wine. ‘Why on earth do you hide yourself away all the time?’

‘I don’t,’ Meg clipped, refusing to accept the compliment and certainly not answering the question. Instead, she took a sip of the drink and screwed up her face, wondering how Jasmine managed to drink it as if it were flavoured water. Her heart rate seemed to be topping a hundred and Meg knew that if they didn’t leave now, then she’d surely change her mind. ‘Come on, Jasmine—let’s hit the town!’

The casino was everything Meg had expected it would be and more. The white marble of the floors and walls in the vast foyer, where Jasmine and Meg stood getting their bearings, was no doubt a cool respite from the activity in the gaming rooms.

Despite the lateness of hour, it hummed with activity, elevators pinging regularly as winners and losers spilled out, heading to the bars and restaurants eager to spend their winnings or drown their sorrows, the sound of machines an ever-present backdrop. Jasmine and Meg wandered a while, peering into the designer shops, noses pressed against the windows like children at a toy shop.

‘He’s going to buy it for her!’ Jasmine breathed, watching as a rather ancient gentlemen leant heavily on his walking frame with one hand as his other retrieved a wallet, peeling off one of many credit cards and handing it to a pouting redhead who was young enough to be his grand-daughter. ‘He’s actually going to buy that diamond ring for her! Lucky, lucky thing!’

‘Lucky?’ Meg screwed up her nose in distaste, not sure who to feel sorry for—the woman who would later pay an extremely high price for her gift or the man who was being fleeced.

‘Let’s go in.’ Jasmine nudged Meg, pressing the intercom and waving at the assistant who gave a snooty frown as she looked over.

‘I somehow don’t think we’re the kind of clientele they’re looking for,’ Meg said, turning to go, but just as she did, surprisingly the assistant came over, gesturing to a security guard who opened the heavy glass door. Like a puppy chasing a ball, Jasmine leapt inside as Meg rather more hesitantly entered.

‘IS there anything in particular you are looking for?’ The assistant spoke fluent English and directed all of her questions at Meg. Embarrassed, Meg shook her head.

‘We’re just browsing—if that’s okay?’

‘Of course!’

But browsing in an exclusive jewellery shop in the Niroli casino was nothing like the high-street stores Meg usually frequented. In fact, it was like nowhere Meg had ever been in her life. Once inside, the rather snooty demeanour of the receptionist faded—slivers of bitter chocolate were offered and refused, but a glass of champagne thrust into her hand while looking was apparently non-negotiable—but Meg couldn’t relax and enjoy. Excruciatingly aware of the security cameras whirring and homing in, and more than aware she couldn’t afford as much as a keyring, all Meg wanted was out.

But Jasmine had other ideas. ‘Oh, would you look at these? Have you ever seen anything as beautiful?’

Never.

Peering into the glass display cabinet, even Meg, who was itching to escape, was momentarily transfixed; on simple black velvet hung a pendant and earrings and, even to a novice like Meg, their worth was clearly more than the entire shop put together.

‘They are very beautiful, yes?’

‘Stunning!’ Meg watched as her breath fogged up the glass, eyes widening as the assistant pulled out a key from her belt and opened the display cabinet.

‘Clearly you appreciate the finer things—these are pieces from some of the Niroli royal family’s collection. You can hold them for a moment—but that is all.’

‘We can actually hold them?’ Meg blinked.

‘The king tries to make things more …’ The assistant snapped her fingers as she attempted to locate the word she was looking for, and then settled for a longer version. ‘He tries to let his people closer to the family—these are not the best pieces, of course.’

And this wasn’t your average jeweller’s, Meg thought. They were locked in, cameras were everywhere, but even so holding such treasures even for a short while was a rare treat.

‘How much are they worth?’ Jasmine asked as the assistant placed the jewels in Meg’s hands, the cool of the perfect stones heavy in her heated palms, and Meg knew the answer before the assistant even spoke.

‘They are not for sale. We are honoured to have them for a short while.’

‘They must be insured for a figure,’ Jasmine rudely pushed as Meg handed the treasures back.

‘Their street value is not relevant,’ the assistant answered tartly. ‘These jewels stay within the royal family.’

‘Snooty madam!’ Jasmine declared once they were outside. ‘I wonder what they are worth …’

‘What does it matter?’ Meg asked. ‘I can’t believe we actually got to hold them—I wish I’d brought my camera.’

‘You probably wouldn’t have been allowed to use it,’ Jasmine pointed out. ‘Right, enough of window-shopping. I’m tired of looking at things I’ll never be able to afford!’

‘Let’s go and buy a drink,’ Meg suggested.

‘Let’s not!’ Jasmine laughed, steering a bemused Meg out of the shopping mall and through a gaming room towards a bar. Supremely self-conscious, Meg took a seat on a bar stool, pulling her skirt down over her thighs, then fiddling with her earrings, aware that they had been noticed. More than a few heads had turned as they’d walked into the room but, instead of boosting Meg’s confidence, it merely heightened her already nervous state, especially when Jasmine assuredly summoned the bartender and loudly ordered two glasses of their most expensive champagne.

‘We’re on a budget,’ Meg whimpered, aware that the slender glass the waiter was pouring the pale golden liquid into was undoubtedly worth her entire night’s spending money.

‘Relax, will you?’ Jasmine giggled, pulling a sequinned purse out of her evening bag, but before she’d even opened the zipper, before the drinks had even been put down on the placemats, the bartender halted her.

‘It has already been taken care of.’ He gestured to a nearby table, where four middle-aged businessmen sat, staring openly at them with knowing smiles.

‘Salute!’

‘Cheers!’ Jasmine held her glass up in acknowledgement to the nearby table, then winked at an appalled Meg. ‘Come on, drink up. There’ll be plenty more where that came from.’

‘At what price, though?’ Meg bit the words out—she could feel the colour mounting on her cheeks, torn between wanting to send the drinks back and not wanting to make a scene. ‘Jasmine, they’re going to want something….’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Meg! Will you loosen up? For God’s sake, they bought us a drink. Can’t you just say thank you? It’s just a bit of fun.’

Only it wasn’t.

As Meg had predicted, as soon as the glasses met their lips the men made their way over, sleazy chat-up lines were followed by sleazy chat-up lines, a bottle of champagne soon appeared, and all she wanted was to get the hell out, knowing the money that was being spent on them had nothing to do with their engaging conversation, nothing to do with a man wanting to get to know a woman. It had been a mistake to come—a horrible, horrible mistake.

‘They want us to play the tables!’ Jasmine said gleefully as Meg bit back a smart retort. ‘Come on!’

She was tired of pointing things out to Jasmine—tired of acting like a boring big sister when Jasmine clearly didn’t want to hear what she had to say.

‘I’m going to bed.’

‘Bed!’ Jasmine gave her a wide-eyed look. ‘It isn’t even midnight. Come on, Meg. It will be fun.’

‘It’s not my kind of fun,’ Meg answered. ‘Look, Jasmine, I’m tired and I don’t particularly like the company we’re keeping. If you want to stay on, then that’s up to you. Just be careful.’

‘Five minutes,’ Jasmine pleaded. ‘Then slip away—pretend you’re going to the loo or something.’

They were already at the gaming area, Jasmine’s eyes glittering from the champagne and attention as Meg attempted her excuses. There was nothing subtle now about the men’s advances—one of them offered her a chip to play the roulette table, which Meg refused, a prickle of fear running down her spine as Jasmine accepted. Things were really starting to get out of control.

‘Thirty, red.’ Jasmine kissed her chip and placed it on the table as Meg watched on. She’d never played roulette. Oh, she’d seen it on films, but she had no idea of the rules and absolutely no desire to find out, but her escort was insistent, pushing the chip into her hand.

‘No!’ Meg almost shouted the word and flung the beastly chip at him. She wanted nothing from him, nothing at all. And, boring or not, she was going to get Jasmine out of here and tell her she was flirting with danger. Once this beastly game was over, even if she had to frog-march her to the toilet, that was what she was going to do!

‘Your bet, please.’

As the businessman who had latched onto Meg pushed the chip back into her hand, Meg again shook her head, but table etiquette demanded she now play, and if Meg didn’t want to make a scene then she had no option but to place her bet. ‘Black seventeen,’ she said, plucking a number from midair and pulling out her purse, refusing to baulk when the croupier informed her of the minimum bet and handing over her entire night’s wages plus a touch more.

Meg barely watched as the wheel spun. Her eyes were seemingly on it, but her mind was elsewhere. Sensing the leering stares of her companions, feeling a hand lingering too long as it brushed her back, she wished this moment over, willed the ball to stop anywhere, for this awful night to end.

Tomorrow she was leaving…. The wheel was slowing down as her jumbled thoughts assimilated into some sort of order, her mind calming as she worked out a rudimentary plan: her job in the kitchen was over, when she didn’t show up in Luca’s office tomorrow she’d be out on her ear anyway, and tonight Jasmine had delivered the last straw. She was tired of Jasmine, tired of Niroli come to that—she’d had nothing but trouble and disappointment since she’d arrived. First thing tomorrow she’d head to back to the port, catch a boat to Mont Avellana perhaps. She’d heard there was seasonal work there…. Only the ball was moving now, rattling around the stilling wheel and even though the tension at the table was building, now she had a plan, for Meg it was abating….

Until the ball landed in its slot and all hell broke loose.

Black, seventeen!

CHAPTER FOUR

‘TABLE FOUR; move in closer!’

Luca’s order was swiftly obeyed, the security camera zooming in on the minor commotion in the general public gaming room, the winning figure being relayed to Dario, his Chief of Security, through an earpiece and passed on to Luca, who didn’t bat an eyelid. It was small pickings compared to the figures he dealt with on a daily and nightly basis and, more to the point, in a few hours the winnings would most probably be fed back into the casino. No, it wasn’t the money that intrigued Luca, it was the reaction of the women that held his attention now. One was jumping up and down, accepting champagne and kisses in all directions, and for a moment Luca thought the information he’d been given must be wrong—that surely she must be the winner—because the other woman stood apart, her stance almost disappointed at her sudden fortune.

‘Closer!’ Luca snapped his fingers impatiently, his eyes narrowing as he recognised one of them. The bold kitchen-hand that had approached him earlier this evening and asked to be considered for work out on the casino floor. He’d declined her instantly and if her behaviour now was anything to go by then he’d been right to do so. But who was the other woman?

Could it be her?

Shamelessly he ordered the camera to focus in on her, and his staff complied, more than used to Luca taking his rich pickings: zooming in on the prettiest girl in the room and observing her for a few moments before making his move. As if he were a lion stalking his prey, this was his domain and everyone present knew it.

It was her! Luca’s eyes narrowed as he focussed on her image. He’d been right with his first assessment—she didn’t belong in the kitchen scrubbing dishes—but neither did she belong down there being fawned and harassed, and now that she had won some money she was even more of a target. He knew how this place worked, knew that the euphoria after a win was a dangerous time, that those men would take full advantage … and it made him feel sick to the stomach.

‘Who are those guys with them?’ Luca asked his staff.

‘Some businessmen they picked up earlier. We’ve been watching them for the last hour or so—they’ve been buying the girls drinks and now they’re giving them money to play the tables—the usual.’

Which it was—this type of thing happened every hour of every day in the casino; Luca knew that more than anyone. So why, then, did he feel so disappointed? Why, then, did he feel as if he’d just been punched in the stomach?

‘She paid for her own bet, though,’ Dario added, listening to some information being relayed through a head piece, and, if it was seemingly a useless piece of information, it was relevant on two counts for Luca. On a professional level it made things easier for the security staff to deal with—her escort had no claim on her, there could be no pointless argument about whose money had aided the bet—but for far more personal reasons, for reasons he could barely fathom, somehow, to Luca it mattered. It mattered a lot.

‘The croupier just let us know—things are starting to get out of hand.’ Dario ground out the cigar he had been smoking and focussed more cameras on the area. ‘She’s trying to leave, but the men insist that she stay and celebrate with them—the croupier wants the floor security to come over.’

He could sense Meg’s nervousness. Those gorgeous eyes were darting, glancing around the room as if hoping to be rescued, flicking to the surveillance camera for a single second, holding his gaze without knowing it, seemingly asking him for help.

‘Do it.’ Luca snapped his fingers impatiently, watching on another screen as almost instantaneously the security guards made their way through the busy gaming room, the well-oiled machines of the casino moving into swift action—any potential situation swiftly dealt with before it escalated. Luca knew his hand-picked staff were more than capable of dealing with this, knew that in a matter of moments things would easily be brought discreetly under control and the small crowd dispersed, so why then was he pulling on his jacket, filled with something, a need almost to get out there and help her himself?

He snapped his fingers again—ordering his cheque-book and writing out a figure in his impressive violet scrawl, then stalking out of the room as his bodyguards followed without a word. They were more than used to Luca Fierezza’s routine when a pretty girl won: most of her winnings would be delivered personally by cheque, so that she couldn’t spend it, which got him straight to second base because it showed her he was looking out for her best interests—first base had already been passed courtesy of his stunning good looks—and for the final run, with the percentage of cash he handed her, he’d invite her to join him in the high-rollers club. Home run.

‘Congratulations!’

His voice was instantly recognisable—and Meg started in recognition as she heard it, her startled eyes swinging round to his, actually grateful for his presence. Since her number had come up the table had been a frenzy of activity, everyone around her eager to celebrate, pressing her to join in, to carry on and party into the night, when all she wanted to do was disappear, for the glare of the spotlight to dim from her—and now it had.

Luca was the only one who held the spotlight, the only man in the place who could instantly regain control by his mere presence, and regain control he did. Meg’s unwelcome companion actually melted away without even a murmur of protest as Luca ushered Meg over to a quiet table, pouring her a glass of water, which she accepted gratefully, before handing her her winnings.

‘Most of it is in a cheque—you can come tomorrow morning and cash it.’ He smiled at her frown. ‘People often blow their winnings, by tomorrow morning you will be more restrained.’

‘I’m more than in control now.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘In fact all I want to do is get the hell out of here. Is it always so.?’ She fumbled for a word for a moment and failed to come up with one, but Luca, even with his rather more limited disposal of the English language, found the one she was looking for, or at least one that came close.

‘Frenzied?’ he offered as Meg gave a nod. ‘Always. Especially when a …’ His voice trailed off as he realised somehow that she’d had an earful of shallow compliments tonight, that telling her she was beautiful was probably the last thing she wanted to hear right now. ‘Join me upstairs.’ He watched her eyes widen, and smiled. ‘I mean, there is a quieter gaming room upstairs—a little more civilized, perhaps.’ She knew where he meant—the high-rollers club. She’d seen it when she’d arrived, the elevator neatly roped off with security ensuring that only the richest and most beautiful went there, but it held little appeal for Meg.